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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27118993">Shotgun of Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Left 4 Dead (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arguing, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, For the most part anyways, Found Family, Game: Left 4 Dead 2, Himbo Ellis, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Arguing, Mutual Pining, Rare Fandoms, Slow To Update, Zombies, asshole becomes less of an asshole over time, between u and nick probably he's an asshole, no y/n</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:00:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27118993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>i have a huge crush on ellis. this fic is a result of that &lt;3 this might be ooc, my apologies if it is. this will run through the campaign of the game - the reader is just another character added into the main group :) and no y/n, it's a thing for me lol. enjoy, and thanks for reading!!!</p><p>edit 1/7/21: changed the title, updated the summary and tags :)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ellis (Left 4 Dead)/Original Female Character(s), Ellis (Left 4 Dead)/Reader, Ellis (Left 4 Dead)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Dead Center: Hotel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You didn’t know how you got there. No, you did. It was just blurry and blood-smeared and smelled like corpses. You remembered swinging a fire axe with reckless abandon as zombies - </span>
  <em>
    <span>real and actual zombies </span>
  </em>
  <span>- rushed you from all sides, eager to take a chunk out of you first. You were pretty sure you were gonna die. Apparently though, not yet. Your sorry ass got pulled out of a burning hotel after you’d bashed the head of your roommate-gone-zombie in with a fire extinguisher. The whole thing was pretty damn traumatic - you had no idea how none of them broke down crying like you did when you all hit the first safe room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’d backed yourself into a corner, your gun tossed carelessly on the cement floor in front of your huddled form as you cried, snottily and messily into your sleeves. Your knees were pressed to your chest - you really were trying to make yourself as small as possible. Maybe if you crushed yourself in hard enough you’d compress into nothing. Or maybe you’d wake up out of this terrible fucking nightmare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just a heads up, neither of those things happened. No, you just made a total ass of yourself by crying so hard you got a headache in front of four other people who were, in all honesty, total strangers to you. There was an air of uncomfortable silence as they all watched you, frozen like deer in headlights, unable to move or say something. You didn’t blame them. In fact, if they just wanted to pretend you weren’t there until your fit was over, that would be fine by you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They didn’t. At least, two of them didn’t. The first to come near you was the younger guy, maybe your age, cute in a backwater hick kinda way. He had big doe eyes, gray-green in color, and a scar marked the bridge of his nose. His dark brows were drawn in concern as he dropped into a squat in front of you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, y’ alright? Miss?” Jesus, talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>southern</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The twang was heavy on his words, turning them into a drawl more than anything else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You wiped harshly at your face with your sleeve, trying with little success to clear your face enough of tears and snot so you could speak clearly. “Yeah, I’ll, um- I’ll be fine in a second.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Another total lie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me if I’m rude, but y’ don’t seem like it.” He said, tilting his head just slightly. Like a dog.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You waved your hand in a weak attempt at both humor and a way to wave his concerns off. “Well, y’know,” you paused to sniffle. “Just had to bash a bunch of people’s brains in with an axe because they were trying to- trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. Not really my hobby.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you seemed pretty good swingin’ that-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Zombies, sweetheart, not people.” A new voice, decidedly northern, came from the corner of the room, cutting off country boy in the middle of his sentence. You looked up, your skin itching with the condescending tone. Country boy followed suit, his head turning to look at who spoke.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It was the suit. He leaned against the wall, inspecting the gun in his hands. He wasn’t even looking at you. Ah, one of those types. A dick, putting it simply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beat of silence passed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, prick,” you said decidedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this, his head whipped up, a sneer pulling at his thin lip as he worked up a biting retort. Or what </span>
  <em>
    <span>would’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> been a biting retort, had one of the others not spoken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be an asshole, Nick,” the woman said, her eyes narrowed into a reprimanding glare. “I know that’s like not asking you not to breathe, but come on. She’s shaken up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nick looked between you and her for a moment before he seemed to be subdued, relenting in the face of the woman who spoke for you. Nice of her. You didn’t need her to do that, but it was nice of her, especially since you were still swallowing past a lump in your throat and words weren’t coming to you at the moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman came over as well, standing next to where the hick guy was squatting. She stood, regarding you with a gaze that felt almost analytical - but she merely smiled, offering you a hand to pull yourself up. Another pause. Should you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, probably. You tentatively reached up and grabbed her hand, using momentum and the strength of her grip to pull yourself to your feet, rocking slightly on wobbly legs. Your hand was sticky with sweat, you noted mentally with a wince. Following a quick wipe of your palms on your pants, you spoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about my-” you gestured loosely to… your entire body. “Everything, I guess. Jesus, I’m a mess.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>You laughed, and, to your great relief, the woman and the guy laughed with you. Even the older man - the leader of the group, you figured - let out a chuckle at your words. Everyone could appreciate a little self-deprecating humor. Especially when there were real, actual zombies clawing at the door outside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” the woman said, a small smile pulling at her lips. “I think we’re all pretty banged up. We barely got out of that one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know! Did y’all see me jump that line of fire? Pretty cool, right?” Country boy spoke again, looking particularly proud of himself. His chest puffed up a little - he gave you the impression of a rooster, almost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ellis, didn’t you get your ass whooped by about a dozen zombies ‘bout five seconds after that?” The older man, who’d been mostly silent during the whole exchange, spoke. His voice had a teasing tone, and his brow was cocked in a question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Country boy - Ellis, apparently - seemed to deflate a little. “Well, I didn’t see ‘em! Ain’t my fault. Can be real sneaky sons-a-bitches when they wanna be.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Both the woman and the older man laughed again while Ellis’s face colored and he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, his gaze flicking at you for a second before sliding to the cement wall behind you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feeling a little more comfortable, you stepped forward, offering your own brag. “Did you guys see me pop a cap in that… What did you call it? The thing with the tongue? I popped a cap in his ass, for sure.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...And immediately after you got snared, if my memory serves me right?” the woman said teasingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You made an indignant ‘tch’ noise as you bent to pick up your discarded gun. “It’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> that counts.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You got the group to laugh again (minus Nick, who was still sulking in the corner like a damn toddler), which was nice. Nicer than you thought it would be. Despite the zombies groaning and making various unpalatable noises outside the safe room, for now, it was relatively pleasant. You got a better look at the ragtag group as they laughed and poked fun at each other, your eyes flicking over each one of them in a quick study. They seemed good. As good as a merry band of misfits born of necessity could be, you supposed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman’s attention returned to you as you looked over your gun, making sure it wasn’t too damaged from your haphazard toss of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m Rochelle. The thing with the tongue - they call them smokers,” she said with a smile, offering you a half-empty bottle of pain pills from the bag slung over her shoulder. You took them gratefully with a nod - there was a pretty sharp ache in your leg from where you’d banged it on a door frame while making a mad dash for the hallway that led to the safe room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My friends call me Coach,” the older man clarified from his position near the door with a clear of his throat. He smiled at you - a small, tight one that spoke volumes of stress. You understood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Miss,” came the distinctive twang from your right, and you jumped a little. Ellis stood there, fiddling with the shotgun in his hands. When you turned fully to face him, he stuck a hand out. “I’m Ellis. Well, you mighta knew that already, but in case y’ didn’t hear. I, uh, was runnin’ an auto body shop when this thing kicked off.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His fumbling with words was endearing. You gripped his hand and shook it with a smile. “Good to know - if we run across a working car maybe we can keep you around.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Your playful tone made his cheeks burn a surprising shade of red, but he smiled regardless. You cast your gaze to the corner of the room where Nick stood. Apparently that gun was really fascinating - he hadn’t taken his eyes off it the entire time he’d been in here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you too, Nick,” you said. It came out sort of jabby, but he was a dick to you, so you didn’t exactly care.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cut the shit, sweetheart. I’m not sticking around here for long; as soon as I find a good gun and supplies I’m splitting, so you don’t have to play nice with me.” he sneered. This time his gaze met yours, but you held it, an insufferable smile still pulling at your lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was the first to break eye contact, after a beat or two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You introduced yourself to the group following the mini staring contest, giving them your name and another apology for your behavior earlier. “I don’t normally lose my shit like that. My bad. Just kind of a shock, y’know? I’ll try not to let that happen again. No promises though. That smoker shit was pretty awful.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Rochelle snorted. “Listen, we’re not therapists but we’re the best you’re gonna get. Just make sure to cry it out when we’re in a safe room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You laughed, a short bark that was more than a little hoarse. “Sure you don’t want me to break down right in the middle of a horde? It’ll be super cool and dramatic, I swear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, if I find the cameras to get the shot.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Cameras?” Ellis perked up. “Lord, this one time my buddy Keith and I found this camera in the middle of the swamp while we was out muddin’, and--”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ellis?” Nick said, massaging his temple with one ring-adorned hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For five minutes, can you please shut the fuck up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My bad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nick, for five minutes, can you not be such a total and complete dick?” you said, a smug-ass smirk pulling at your lips. It was nice to unapologetically be a little shit to someone who deserved it. You couldn’t see his reaction - you were sifting through the ammo pile on the table looking for the right magazine for your gun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honey-” You interrupted his hissed pet name with a wave of your hand and a word to Ellis.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What were you saying about that camera, Ellis?” you said, glancing towards him with a smile.</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His mouth was open, just slightly, his gaze flicking between you and a pissed off Nick for a second longer before he spoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well, this camera was out right in the middle of the swamp, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as you moved out of the safe room and into the city beyond, you got to hear about the time Ellis found a polaroid camera in the middle of the swamp that was chock full of pictures of frogs.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dead Center: Streets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Welcome to morning two of the apocalypse. Peeling your eyelids apart revealed a bleary, mostly-dark safe room. Weak, pallid sunlight shone outside the steel-barred door; some of it shone in through the small barred window. It smelled like blood, old blood in here. Your mouth tasted like it.</p><p>You grimaced, swallowing past a dry tongue. Yuck. Seriously, yuck. And of course, beyond your mouth tasting like you’d swallowed a bunch of old change, your entire fucking body was hurting. It felt like you’d grown new muscles overnight and then proceeded to strain all of them. You also felt like you’d been hit by a truck - which wasn’t far off the mark. As your brain came to, you remembered yesterday’s events. Slowly and painfully, of course - Jesus, the headache that was  coming on felt like it was gonna split your skull open. Were you hungover?</p><p>After you’d had your mini breakdown in the first safe room yesterday, you and the group had moved out into the city. Coach and Ellis - the only people who actually knew the area - suggested that they go to the nearest mall, a big box superstore that was apparently being used as an evac station beyond the hotel.</p><p>That was a solid enough plan for you. Rochelle, too, it seemed. Nick, though, who was shaping up to be a chronic bitcher, immediately voiced his disapproval of the plan, stating that the mall was going to be “full of those mealy-mouthed bastards” and that “you (not we, you noted) were all gonna die if you so much as even step foot in there.”</p><p>“Nick, quit your damn bitching. You got a better plan?” Coach had said, his voice sounding very much annoyed but his face conveying not much beyond… passive aggressive curiosity. “Cuz if you do, I’m all ears.”</p><p>Nick had sneered, and had obviously wanted to say something, but… curiously seemed to deflate under Coach’s reproachful glare. So challenging Coach was over the line for him. You noted that.</p><p>The plan had gone fairly smoothly, all things considered. Except for the one time when whatever higher power above decided to play around with you for shits and giggles, because, as you know, your track record of luck in the apocalypse so far has been just peachy.</p><p>You had been lagging behind the group a little. Your leg was bothering you (a cursory check over it later would reveal a massive bruise had bloomed over your thigh in all shades of purple and red) and your stride was hampered. You had been doing your best to keep up, but it was a struggle. </p><p>And of course, the one goddamn minute you’d lost line of sight with the group had been the minute a… what did Rochelle call them? Chargers? Yeah. A charger decided you looked particularly appealing to be its next contestant on “Get Your Fucking Ribcage Smashed In” and had hit you like a fucking speeding car. You barely had time to choke out a scream for help before it slammed you against a stone wall. By the grace of some god, its fingers had taken the impact and not your spine; but that wasn’t going to last forever.</p><p>With its hand wrapped firmly around your torso, it hauled you upwards into the air and fucking rammed you against the pavement beneath you. All the air left your body with a whoosh, and you started seeing stars. Its feral grunts filled your ears as you weakly banged your fists against its massive hand - it felt like hitting solid wood. A scream clawed its way out of your lungs as you were slung up into the air again. You remembered the hot sting of tears at the corners of your eyes - both from panic and pain. You didn’t want to die like this. It hurt so bad. You were so young. You didn’t want to die-</p><p>Your knight in shining armor came sprinting around the corner, shouting your name. Except she wasn’t in shining armor, she was in a Depeche Mode t-shirt and she was gunning down that fucking charger like it was the last thing she’d ever do. And thank fuck, because you weren’t sure how much more beating your bones could take. The charger yelped with pain once or twice before she finally got a bullet to go through its brain, or something like that. Close enough to it, at least, because the zombie dropped like a sack of hammers, taking you with it. Its unwavering grip on your torso loosened some, but its massive arm now lay across you, and you literally didn’t have the strength or will to move.</p><p>When Rochelle’s worried face appeared in your vision above you, you attempted a smile. Ouch. She dropped into a squat, her arms tugging at the massive appendage slung over you with no small amount of effort. It shifted some, and you sucked in a gasp so sharp it hurt your throat. Goddamn. Goddamn, that hurt. She halted, glancing at you before muttering an “Oh, shit” under her breath and calling for the rest of the group.</p><p>Ellis was the first one to arrive, his eyebrows knotted together with concern. When he saw your sorry-ass state, his mouth dropped open some. He dropped his gun and booked it over to you to help move the charger’s arm - a move that you saw as stupid at the moment but reflecting on it later… it was kind of cute. How much he cared, at least. He didn’t even know you.</p><p>With Ellis’s help, Rochelle hauled the arm off you, and you swallowed air in gulps. You were hurting. Really hurting.</p><p>“Fuck,” you wheezed out intelligently. Peeling yourself off the pavement seemed impossible. The best you could manage at the moment was breathing.</p><p>Rochelle stuck her hand into your field of view. “C’mon, let me help you up. We’re almost to the safehouse.”</p><p>“Shit. This fucking hurts.” you gasped, slowly pulling your hand up to meet hers and grip as hard as you could manage.</p><p>Her tone was full of nothing but sympathy. “I know. I’m sorry. But we’ve got to get moving, because the longer we stick around, the more attention we’re gonna get.”</p><p>You managed a nod, and with what could only be described as a yelp of pain, you hauled yourself to your feet, using her hand as an anchor. Twice in two days, you noted. She held you steady for a couple seconds after you stood so you could brace yourself, because damn, this shit fucking hurt. Like a bitch. Bitch, fuck, shit, damn. Any and all curse words you could think of were running through your brain at the moment - and were streaming from your mouth.</p><p>You winced, though you did manage a nod when Rochelle handed you your gun. “Fucking damn, shit this fucking hurts. I swear - fuck - I swear to God, if my ribs are broken I’m murdering so many of these fuckers.”</p><p>Rochelle snorted as she braced herself against you, letting you lean on her like some war victim while you as a group hobbled to the safe room. The sun was going down, the air was getting chilly, and the lack of visibility combined with the severity of your injuries made the choice to hunker down in the safe house overnight an easy one.</p><p> </p><p>You remembered taking a shit ton of pain pills last night and passing out cold, curled inside a sleeping bag on the frigid cement floor. </p><p>So yeah. That was yesterday.</p><p>Maybe today would be better.</p><p>Returning to the present, you made the terrible decision to sit up. Your spine cracked in about ten different places, and your muscles screamed at you in all their sore glory. You sucked in a breath through your teeth with a sharp hiss, alerting the only other person awake to your presence.</p><p>Of course it was Nick, because, again, your luck is fantastic.</p><p>It was silent for a couple seconds - he was smoking a cigarette and staring out the tiny barred window of the door, looking contemplative. You were just focusing on not immediately collapsing back into your sleeping bag and going back to sleep for… forever.</p><p>When he slid his pale gaze over to you, you were squinting weirdly at him, trying to see if that was-</p><p>The question blurted out of your mouth faster than you could stop it. “Is that a hickey?”</p><p>His mouth twisted into a sneer. For like, the fourth time. “Maybe. You looking to give me another one, sweetheart?”</p><p>It was your turn to twist your face up; your nose scrunched up into a look of disgust. “Fix your hairline and we’ll talk.”</p><p>“Jesus, you just woke up. What are you so pissed about this early? You on your period or something?”</p><p>“Quit shit-talking before I- ow, fuck,” you snarled as you worked your sore legs out of your sleeping bag. “Before I start swinging on you, dickhead.”</p><p>“Yeah, like you’re gonna get very far with a beat-to-shit ribcage.” </p><p>“Oh, fuck off.” you sighed, before trying to get your legs underneath you. The action made you clench your teeth and hiss in pain. “Motherfucker!”</p><p>Standing up was more difficult of a task than you thought. Your legs really just didn’t want to work with you. They’d better learn to, though, because you guys needed to kind of haul ass if you wanted to get to the mall in time for any evac.</p><p>A couple seconds of embarrassing struggling later, you were up on unsteady legs. You felt more like a baby deer than a functioning adult human, but you allowed yourself some leeway. Bracing yourself on the ammo table, you focused on breathing; sucking in careful lungfuls of air and trying not to irritate your sore ribs any more than they already were. It didn’t really work, but hey, points for trying. To make it seem like you were actually doing something, you looked down at the heap of miscellaneous ammunition and magazines scattered below you and began sifting through it. Your gun was pretty good on ammo, but that panicky thrumming pulse of embarrassment was running hot in your veins and was making your cheeks warm.</p><p>You felt really fucking useless. Between the meltdown and getting WWE-levels of body-slammed by a charger yesterday, you felt like… an extra. A background character. Someone who didn’t really fit, per se. Like you could just die, and the rest of the group would keep on going.</p><p>“You good?” Nick’s voice was… almost hesitant. It still made you jump.</p><p>“Huh?” With a start, you realized you’d kind of just been staring down at the ammo with a hand plunged into it. Those pills were probably still working their way through your system - you were gonna be spacey. “Oh, yeah. Just… looking for ammo.”</p><p>“‘Kay.”</p><p>Thankfully, you heard the shifting of sleeping bag material behind you from the floor. Good distraction. Thank you, universe. You went back to your hunting and pecking through the pile of mismatched bullets, sorting through cool metal cartridges with sore, shaky hands. </p><p>“Good mornin’, y’all,” came a familiar voice from the floor. Jesus, he was way too excited to wake up.</p><p>“Morning, Ellis,” you said, successfully finding a magazine for your gun. You turned stiffly, loosely grasping the ammunition in your hands. “How’d you sleep?”</p><p>The question was casual, but the way he looked at you - you’d think you’d just asked him to marry you, or something. His eyes were wide in a look of questioning, and his mouth was slightly open. He seemed to shake himself out of it after a second, and a smile pulled at his lips.</p><p>“Al-alright, I suppose. Had this cool dream where I was drivin’ - you’ll never believe this - I was drivin’ Jimmy Gibbs’ car!” he said excitedly, scrambling out of his sleeping bag.</p><p>“Jimmy Gibbs, huh?” you said, watching him almost trip and fall flat on his face as he hopped out of his sleeping setup. “Who’s that?”</p><p>“Shit, only the best stock-car racer of all time! He’s my… what do you call ‘em? Angel? Naw, it starts with an ‘I,’ I think.”</p><p>“Idol?” you cut in gently.</p><p>“Yeah! Idol! Anyways, I was just screamin’ down the track in his car, and it was the best thing I ever done. Well, no, one time my buddy Keith and I tried makin’ homemade bumper cars with ridin’ mowers, and we was havin’ a hell of a time with it until - get this - Keith takes a dive onto the grass. Mower blade wounds over 90% of his body. I didn't run him over, either; he somehow managed to fall under his own. He ended up bein’ in the hospital for five weeks! Hell of a time. I remember him all wrapped in casts - man, he looked like a damn mummy!” Ellis regaled you with his story eagerly, and at the end, he was cracking himself up. His words trailed into laughter, and he smacked at his knee a couple times.</p><p>At some point, Nick had opened his mouth to interrupt Ellis during his recount of what sounded like a particularly brutal memory, but you had fixed the man with a death glare so vicious it actually managed to shut him the fuck up before he even said anything.</p><p>You laughed with Ellis at the end of his story, too, but it was more because Ellis was laughing rather than his story was funny. He had a nice laugh, you’d give him that. Well, maybe not nice; it sure didn’t sound like music or tinkling bells or anything like that, but it was loud and infectious and it did a damn good job of making you feel better, even if it was just for a little bit.</p><p>“How the hell is Keith still alive?” you asked, seating yourself on an empty spot on the table with a pained grunt.</p><p>“Shit, I don’t know. I mean, my daddy told me once that if yer dumb, you gotta be tough. Guess Keith took that to heart,” he said, looking almost sheepish.</p><p>Nick snorted from his post in the corner. “Guess that’s why getting your ass whooped by a buncha zombies didn’t do shit to you, huh?”</p><p>“Nick,” you said reproachfully. You glanced over at Ellis, a conspiratorial smirk crawling across your face. “He’s still mad about my hairline comment from earlier.”</p><p>“Shit, I was gonna say something too!” Ellis exclaimed, sounding a little too innocent.</p><p>Nick’s head whipped towards you, but it was too late, because both you and Ellis were sent into fits of snorting laughter. Fuck, he was funny when he wanted to be. You’d give him that. When you’d both calmed down a little bit, you met his gaze with a wide smile. He looked a little… taken aback, but he smiled too, his cheeks going dark with blush. He blushed a lot.</p><p>From her place on the floor, Rochelle stirred, looking tired. You were all tired, to be honest. She rubbed at her eyes with a yawn and stared at the ceiling for a good minute before deciding to slowly shimmy out of her sleeping bag, too. When you caught her eye, she smiled.</p><p>“Good morning,” she said, though it seemed more automatic than anything else.</p><p> </p><p>“Morning,” you said with a nod. Ouch. Cool. Your neck hurt, of all goddamn places.</p><p>“Morning, Ro!”</p><p>“Hi, Ellis.” Her weary but patient tone was… admirable. You wondered what she’d been before this shit all popped off. Maybe a teacher. Maybe a reporter? You made a mental note to ask later.</p><p>“How are you holding up?” she said, making her way over to you, her sleeping bag already rolled up and tucked under her arm. “You must still be feeling pretty shitty, huh?”</p><p>You smiled wearily. “Yeah. Not as bad as yesterday, but getting out of my sleeping bag was a project and a half. Gonna take some more pills and hope I can get over myself so I can keep going.”</p><p>“Ah, well. Occupational hazard. If I find more pills or an actual medkit, I’ll let you know.” she said, patting your arm gently before looking down at the ammo pile next to you and sorting through it.</p><p>You nodded at her and swung your legs a little aimlessly. After a minute of very productive staring at the wall, your stomach growled - you jumped again. Jesus, you were jittery. More jittery than normal. With a sigh, you abandoned your post on the table and stumbled over to your backpack, which had been tossed on the floor next to your sleeping bag. You’d picked up the bag from a body on the side of the street - thankfully, you hadn’t needed to put it down twice. The corpse just kind of ragdolled and lolled around as you tugged the backpack off it.</p><p>Inside, it was sparse. A box of bandaids, a baggie of granola bars and fruit snacks, and some water bottles. A flashlight too. No weapons. You could see now why that person was dead.</p><p>You cracked the bag of granola bars, looking at your group. At the sound of crinkling plastic, Ellis’s head perked up. Nick had stomped out his cigarette, though the smoke - or at least the smell of it - lingered. Behind you, Rochelle had struck gold in the ammo pile, hissing a quiet ‘Yes!’ as she jammed another magazine into her gun and dumped the others into her own backpack.</p><p>“You guys hungry?” you offered, holding up the baggie.</p><p>As if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him, Coach sat straight up in his sleeping bag. His eyes zeroed in on you - more specifically, the bag in your hand. Your eyebrows raised, and you gave the bag a little shake as a silent secondary offer. You were pretty sure Coach was running on his lizard brain. He clawed his way out of his sleeping bag with a grunt that sounded eerily similar to the zombies stumbling around outside.</p><p>You gave him the first pick. With one large hand rubbing at his eyes, he nodded at you, digging his other hand in the bag. He selected his spartan breakfast after a moment of careful deliberation and retreated to his sleeping bag, zipping it up and packing it away as he ate.</p><p>Rochelle was up next, followed by Ellis, who eagerly chattered about “this one time me and my buddy Keith tried makin’ homemade granola bars with pinecones” as he ate, spluttering mouthfuls of granola and chocolate chips with each sentence.</p><p>You listened with genuine interest as he spoke, ending his story with a word of caution.</p><p>“Yeah, he had to get his stomach cut open to get all the pieces and shit out. Now he can’t look at a granola bar without wantin’ to hurl!” he said, balling up the granola wrapper and shoving it in the back pocket of his knotted coveralls.</p><p>“Jesus, Ellis. What do they feed you guys here? And why is your healthcare so good?” you said, fighting back a stupid grin. You couldn’t help it around him, really. He was just so… happy. Hopeful.</p><p>It made you think that you might actually survive this shit.</p><p>“Aw, hell, I dunno. My mom just bought us TV dinners growin’ up, not much else. Sometimes I ate dinner at Keith’s house, though, and those days were the best. Maaaan,” he said, dragging out the vowel and looking past you in reminisce. “What I wouldn’t give to eat dinner there again.”</p><p>You smiled sympathetically. “Maybe you will. Give it time. Considering how you’re handling this shit, I’m willing to bet Keith at least is still alive.”</p><p>His eyes widened some, and a smile stretched across his face. “Really? Ya think so?”</p><p>“Yeah. Really,” you said, your cheeks warming some. Don’t be stupid. He could die today. Besides, you had bigger things to worry about. Ignore your stupid soft heart.</p><p>You peeled your eyes away from Ellis, focusing on Nick, who had been watching the rest of the group from his spot in the corner. Seriously, it seemed like he was glued there. You… understood, regrettably. You understood the logic. Keep everyone at arm’s length. Don’t trust anyone. Always look out for number one. That way, nobody could double cross you. Nobody could steal. Nobody could betray you.</p><p>That way, it wouldn’t hurt if someone died.</p><p>You pursed your lips. “Nick, you hungry? Don’t say no. If you do, I’ll throw one at you.”</p><p>He looked over at you. “You throw shit at me and I will drop you.”</p><p>“Don’t be cranky. Come on, get your rations.”</p><p>When he didn’t make a move, you rolled your eyes and walked (more like shuffled) over to him. Your body lit up with pain - red hot stretching and burning of sore and bruised muscles. You ignored it. Or at least tried to. Valiantly. When you had crossed the safe room, you held out the baggie as a peace offering. Again, no movement. He was eyeing you with the careful study and cool detachment you’d expect to see from… a big cat or something.</p><p>You were about to speak when he slowly put a hand out, picking the first granola bar he got his fingers on from the bag. He gave a single nod of his head as thanks and, notably, turned his head away from you to eat. </p><p>As if you were going to take it away from him.</p><p>You gave a small shrug of your shoulders and, as you made your way back over to your backpack, picked out your own bar and began to eat. It was sticky and syrupy sweet - that unique processed American feel - but it was food, and your irritable stomach was thanking you.</p><p>As you ate, Coach spoke up for the first time that morning. He looked notably better after eating.</p><p>“Alright. Here’s the plan. We gotta cut through the streets and get to Liberty Mall - it’s the closest evac zone. There we’ll get together with CEDA and hopefully put this shit behind us. Everyone game?” he said, his eyes scanning the room from under his heavy brow.</p><p>You started to nod when Ellis interrupted.</p><p>“Wait, wait, wait - Liberty Mall! There’s a gun store right by there! Old feller named Whitaker owns it. Figure we could stop there on the way, pick ourselves out some cool-ass guns.” he said. You could’ve sworn his eyes were twinkling.</p><p>Fuck, new guns? Ammo? Maybe even a scope or some sights? That sounded like a dream. Better than… whatever you were using right now.</p><p>“I’m good with that,” you said as you kneeled, arthritically, on the ground. “You guys down?”</p><p>Rochelle nodded. “I could use something with a scope. Ooh, maybe he’ll have a rocket launcher or something!”</p><p>You laughed. She did too. It was nice.</p><p>“I hope you two know where you’re going.” Nick’s contribution wasn’t outright mean, but the way he spat it was venomous enough to rival that long-necked bitch you’d killed the other day.</p><p>Ellis waved his hand. “Man, I been goin’ to Whitaker’s since before I could walk. We’ll be fine, I’ve gotchu guys.”</p><p>Coach nodded slowly, looking between Ellis and Nick. “Well, I sure as shit wouldn’t mind a shotgun. Whitaker’s, then the mall, yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah, let’s do it,” Ellis said with a satisfied grin, turning to pack up the rest of his things.</p><p>Rochelle nodded. “Sure, fine with me.”</p><p>You glanced up from your position on the floor. “Good in my book. As long as none of us kick the bucket on the way there.”</p><p>Nick huffed. “Whatever.”</p><p>Within the next ten minutes or so, everyone had their sleeping bags rolled up, guns reloaded, and backpacks packed. You took the rest of the pills from the bottle you had and tossed it to the side with a grimace. Hopefully this would keep you for the day. The tablets were dry and felt uncharacteristically tacky as you forced them down your throat with a hard swallow. A bitter aftertaste settled on your tongue, heavy and acrid, making your face scrunch in disagreement with the flavor.</p><p>There was a shared glance around the room - a silent check to see if everyone was ready. An equally silent confirmation followed, and with that, Ellis yanked the bar off the safe room door and kicked it open with a whoop.</p><p>“Yeah! Come get some!” he said, already blasting his shotgun through two different zombies that rushed him.</p><p>Holy shit. Game time. </p><p>Following Ellis’s charge, you scrambled out of the safe room, your sore body protesting at the movement. You stamped it out though - you could hurt later. This was a matter of survival. Take care of the group. Take care of yourself. Take care of business. Those three sentences would become your mantra over the next few days.</p><p>Your gun jolted and bucked in your hands painfully as you squeezed the trigger, letting loose a hail of bullets over anything that unfortunately managed to get in your path. It was hard to describe the scene that met you as you all rushed out of the safe room. Didn’t mean you weren’t going to try, though.</p><p>Fog from Georgia’s ever present humidity rolled along the ground and hung in the air in thick clouds, scattering the already hazy golden sunlight. The smell of blood hung in the air - a thick, tangy, coppery scent that settled deep in your nasal passage and made you feel, strangely, like you had to sneeze. Glossy white tents with bold CEDA logos emblazoned on them stood propped up in a misshapen circle around an ambulance. It was empty.</p><p>Except, of course, for the zombies.</p><p>They rushed at you with screams and shouts of pure, unadulterated rage, and you would’ve flinched away if you weren’t blasting them with so many bullets they’d have lead bones by the end of this. Up close, they were ugly. Pallid skin - no sweat - pockmarked with bruises and cuts. Sunken eyes that held an unnatural sheen, even in complete darkness. Drool and blood mixed in some ungodly slime as it oozed from their loose jaws, spraying out in goopy arcs when they snapped and snarled like rabid dogs.</p><p>Your stomach turned in revulsion as you blasted another wave of them with bullets, sending them sprawling backwards into bloody ragdolls. Keep moving, you reminded yourself, unsticking your feet from the cement and jogging after the others. Your eyes flicked upwards just in time as you spun around from your guard of the back of the group - a… fuck, what were they called? Smoker! </p><p>You shouted, acting on instinct. “Smoker, watch out!”</p><p>A wheeze, followed by a slick noise that sounded way too guttural at the end. The group scattered, you included, as the tongue struck the pavement with a wet thwap. Without wasting another second, you swung your gun up and squeezed the trigger, sending the zombie flying backwards with a faceful of lead and a puff of noxious green smoke.</p><p>“Goddamn, Annie Oakley!” Ellis’s voice rang out from behind you, sounding… impressed.</p><p>You spun around, a smile growing on your face. It fell as soon as it came. “Ellis, behind you!”</p><p>“Shit!” With a stumble, he swung around with his gun, nailing the zombie sprinting up behind him across the cranium. It toppled over, the dent of a shotgun barrel imprinted, deep and bloody, in its temple.</p><p>You flashed him a thumbs up when he turned back around. “Let’s keep moving!”</p><p>Coach moved to the front of your unit, peppering the infected with bullets. His hand was steady, his eyes pinched in order to keep his focus. Over the racket, he yelled. “Y’all see that sign up ahead? Let’s haul ass and get in there!”</p><p>Rochelle shouted your name. “Your right!”</p><p>You flinched away, pulling the trigger as you turned. The infected scrambling towards you fell with a yelp, its face mangled and its hands clenched into arthritic claws. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Too close. Faster. You had to go faster.</p><p>Gunning down infected while running was not easy. Your aim bounced with each step, your targets were running too, and you were being driven by full blown panic, not calm, cool-headedness. Still, you just sprayed and prayed. And guess what - it was working, by some miracle. For the most part, anyway. Those who made it past your rain of bullets were met with a whack to the face with the barrel of the gun or a rough shove backwards and a bullet to the brain a second later.</p><p>Ellis was the first to make it to the door, followed soon after by Nick and Rochelle while you and Coach brought up the rear. The gunfire was louder indoors - both the sound and the bullets ricocheted off the walls, dizzying you and making your ears ring. Still, you pushed through it. Keep fucking going.</p><p>As you swept the room, you found something that… greatly pleased you to say the least. The fire axe you held in your hands felt like a godsend - your gun was starting to really fucking hurt your wrists and ammo was finite. This, however…</p><p>You grinned as you rejoined the group at the landing of the stairs. “Look at what I picked up.”</p><p>Rochelle let out a whistle. “Just don’t swing it near me. I like having all my limbs.”</p><p>You laughed, though tension was prickling at your spine. You can do this. You can do this. Swing the axe, haul ass. Repeat.</p><p>Coach opened the door to the underpass with an exclamation of “Shit, they are on our asses!” and all but scrambled out of the door, his gun kicking in his hands as he dropped zombies one by one. </p><p>It was, to put it shortly, chaos. It’s hard to even describe it; there were body parts flying in all directions and blood was spraying from every angle. You were doing your goddamn best to keep up with the group, but it was tough. You were no marathon runner - you were studying to become an anthropology major, for fuck’s sake. You spent most of your time in the library or in your dorm, with the exception of occasional hikes you did with your study group “for research.” Basically; you weren’t anywhere near as physically fit as this new job demanded you to be, and you were kind of struggling. However, that lovely fight or flight reflex was essentially running any time you weren’t in a safe room, so the adrenaline helped.</p><p>Still, your legs felt like overcooked pasta by the time you had sprinted under the overpass, scrambled over a shipping container, made your way through another building, jumped off a bridge connected to said building onto a truck, then half-jumped, half-fell off some porta-potties near the truck, and were now all charging headfirst towards what Ellis had proclaimed the final building. You weren’t sure what exactly was special about it; it looked like all the others - gray, squat, cubical. </p><p>You were just fucking ready to stop running. Both of your sides were cramping like a motherfucker. Breathing hurt. It felt like your diaphragm was being shredded and your aching ribs from yesterday’s fiasco were not helping at all either. But you kept going. In some distant part of your mind that wasn’t entirely focused on not getting torn to pieces, you figured that some day, if this whole shebang ever ended, this would make for a fascinating thesis paper. How humanity reacted to zombies, how the zombies functioned socially, how the human body was able to run for what felt like miles on nothing but a granola bar and adrenaline. </p><p>The keyword there was if.</p><p>You didn’t know if you were going to survive today, let alone tomorrow. Returning to any semblance of a society or college education was a far-flung dream.</p><p>Your breath came in heaving gasps as the group crowded into the building. Ellis, ever the gentleman, held the door open with one hand and aimed his gun with the other. His face was splattered with dried blood and his eyes were wide with some kind of uncanny delight. Out of the group, he seemed to be the one enjoying this the most. Or maybe he was just in denial. You weren’t a psych student, what did you know?</p><p>The only thing you were focused on, as you stood doubled over, hands on your knees in the corner of the room, was trying not to puke up your meager breakfast.</p><p>Rochelle and Coach were in similar situations as you, you noted dimly as you wiped away sweat from your forehead.</p><p>“Holy shit,” you gasped out, staring at the concrete floor. “Jesus Christ. I should’ve ran more before the world ended. Oh my God, that sucked.”</p><p>There was a breathless laugh from beside you. Rochelle leaned against the wall, holding a hand to her stomach. “I’m in the same boat, don’t worry. At least you’re not wearing boots.”</p><p>“Yeah,” you said, your breath slowing some. “It’s the small things, I guess.”</p><p>“Ohhhh man,” Ellis said, sounding significantly winded himself, “You just reminded me - I ever tell you ‘bout that one time me and Keith joined a marathon by accident? Cuz it was some crazy shit, I’ll tell ya that much. Him and I were just chasing each other through the woods with sticks tryin’ to play pokey and we bust out onto this trail, right? So we both-”</p><p>This time, he was not interrupted by Nick (or anyone else), but a zombie. The fucker had torn a hole in the door and was sticking its bloodied hand through, waving it wildly around as if it were an overenthusiastic fan and you five were somehow celebrities. Murder… celebrities.</p><p>“We gotta move! Up the stairs, hustle!” Coach said, and collectively, you nodded.</p><p>Although your legs were screaming, you climbed the stairs, gripping onto the railing for dear life. Your hands were sweaty (and bloody), your axe was getting heavy and making your arms sore, and your lungs were suffering. However - you weren’t dead, or currently dying, so you decided to stay positive.</p><p>Nick was the first to bust out onto the fenced corridor, dashing forward with no small amount of panic in order to get some space between him and the door. Rochelle and Ellis came out soon after, while you and Coach provided fire support from the back. Just as you reached the landing, you heard the door break fully down, and the heavy footfalls of a large group of zombies behind you. Shit, shit, shit. You and Coach decided unanimously to haul ass out the door, slamming it shut behind you. You took a second to lean back against the heavy access door, staring up at the hazy sky with utter exhaustion.</p><p>No sooner than about five seconds later, a resounding thud came from the other side of the door. It was steel, so it wouldn’t break like the wooden one, but it wasn’t impenetrable - it trembled with the force of the blow. You yelped in surprise, looking frantically at the others. Before you could even ask for help, or ask what the hell to do, Ellis had joined you at the door, leaning his full weight against it and digging his heels into the concrete beneath his feet.</p><p>“Thank you, Ellis,” you said, real gratitude in your voice as your body jolted with the force of the zombies on the other side of the door.</p><p>“No problem, we got this!” he said with a beaming grin, though his face fell as the door shuddered again. “Shit, maybe not.”</p><p>You could hear the snarling on the other side. This wouldn’t hold forever - not even with both you and Ellis on it. Coach, Nick, and Rochelle were aiming their guns at the door, their eyes hardened and trigger fingers ready.</p><p>“Okay, on the count of three, we’re gonna run!” you said, more decisively than you felt. “And we’re not gonna stop until we get to that fucking gun store!”</p><p>The others nodded, and you locked eyes with Ellis for a second. He smiled. “Alright with me. Count of three?”</p><p>You nodded back to confirm.</p><p>“One…”</p><p>The door actually jumped off its hinges for a second, and your feet were sliding on the ground as you pushed back with all of your force. You slapped at your face in a hasty attempt to get the sweat out of your eyes.</p><p>“Two…”</p><p>The screaming on the other side was so loud. It was so loud and feral and full of hate it made your skin crawl. Fuck, you didn’t want to die.</p><p>“Three!”</p><p>You and Ellis moved in surprising sync - you leapt away from the door together into a flying sprint, running harder than you ever had before. Harder than earlier. This was not a winnable fight - you needed to get somewhere safe. And fast.</p><p>Your heart was beating so fast in your ears you thought it might stop. Your strides were long, and your feet slammed against the concrete as you picked up speed, barely registering the others’ voices past the roar in your ears. Actually… was that the roar of your pulse or the horde of zombies behind you?</p><p>You couldn’t tell. You absolutely knew which one was worse, but you couldn’t tell. It made you run faster.</p><p>You didn’t even spare a backwards glance as you hurtled down the stairs, hot on Ellis’s heels. Nick was behind you as well, and he was swearing under his breath. You would’ve been, too, if you weren’t currently diverting all the oxygen in your body to pumping blood to your legs and lungs. Your hands were literally slipping on the handle of your axe as you reached the bottom of the stairs. It was a parking lot - you just had to cross the goddamn parking lot-</p><p>You made the mistake of looking behind yourself. Coach caught up with you as, no joke, a pile of zombies fell down the stairs behind him in a cacophony of screaming and snarling and shrieking. Wayward arms with bulging fever-ridden veins and pustules swiped outwards, and rotting, rabid jaws snapped at your heels as you turned around again and ran.</p><p>You’d never experienced such goddamn panic in your life. You were going to die, you were going to die, you were going to die - fuck, the door was there, and it was open, and Ellis was inside, and Coach was praying and-</p><p>You were inside. The door slammed shut behind you (for like, the third time today) and you collapsed on the floor. This door seemed far more fortified than the access door. There were a couple of thuds as the enraged zombies on the other side… communicated their disagreement with being locked away from their prey, but they died off quickly as you heard muffled gunfire from above.</p><p>It was silent. Silent and dark and cool. You were on your hands and knees, staring at the floor, your face hot from exertion and your heart still slamming in your ears. And ribcage. And throat.</p><p>You puked.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry this was so long in the making! i got started on it in november (ish) and then dropped it. it was actually supposed to be longer than this (i wanted to get the survivors all the way to the mall safe room) but i figured that the cola run could be its own chapter. hope you guys enjoy! thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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